


The Big Bang Affair

by girlintheglen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story that is the result of a poll on Section VII at LJ.  Literally and literarily, these are the results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Big Bang Affair

April Dancer was quite possibly the best looking person in the room, aside from the fact that she was with the man most considered the best looking agent in all of UNCLE.  Together they made an entrance to the ballroom of the Plaza Hotel amidst little fanfare and much admiration.    
  
The striking redhead was dressed in an elegant strapless gown in a hue that could only be described as pearlescent nude.  Only the slight shimmer of the dupioni silk gave away its presence, and even that was barely in contrast to the dewy complexion of the beautiful agent.  
  
Napoleon was wearing a new tuxedo, his last one having been mistreated by an inconsiderate THRUSH goon on a previous mission.  Tonight he was flawless looking, and next to April the two of them had the combined effect of a small riptide in the room.  People took a second and third look, some of them envious and others in open admiration.  
  
As the two agents were striking a pose that would lead into a waltz, Solo’s partner, Illya Kuryakin, was posed for a dance of a different nature. The Russian agent was also entering a room, this one full of THRUSH agents.  He held in his arms a bundle of dynamite, complete with twelve inches of fuse, and a lighter. The three men and two women who had been enjoying a friendly game of poker, grasped immediately the possible ramifications of a man with dynamite, although why this blond fellow should be in their midst was a puzzle.  None of these THRUSH knew Kuryakin, and their first impulse was to try and talk this lunatic out of blowing up anything.  
  
“Say now, you don’t intend to light that, do you?”  Kuryakin smiled, a disarming expression when seen beneath an icy blue gaze.  The fact that this intruder wasn’t talking did not bode well for the captives, although they hadn’t quite thought of themselves as such… yet.  
  
“Look fella, you don’t need to do anything rash.  You look like a reasonable guy, so… so…”  The problem was, the blond didn’t actually look very reasonable at the moment.  He was holding a bundle of dynamite and had a strange look in his eyes. Finally Illya spoke, slowly so that no one missed his intention.  
  
“I expect all of you to cooperate, seeing as how you are at a disadvantage of rather impressive proportions.  If you will kindly put your weapons on the table…’  He motioned for them to do as he said, nodding appreciatively at their quick response. “Yes, just like that.  Now you…’ Illya looked at the woman sitting farthest from him, a blonde wearing black frame glasses that reminded him a little of something he might choose. “Yes, you… please collect the weapons and drop them in the wastebasket, please.”  His smile was now a little broader and she thought him rather attractive, for a lunatic.  
  
One of the men at the table made a motion that incited a quick response from Kuryakin; he flicked the lighter, producing a flame.  The other four all started talking at once, pleading with their friend to please not do anything to upset Illya. “You really do have a death wish, my friend.  I assure you, I will light this bundle of dynamite and lock you in this room with it if you don’t do as I say.”  The five THRUSH looked at one another and then to the Russian.  
  
“And just what is it you want?  And who are you, anyway?”  Illya smiled, glad that no one had recognized him.  “I want you to open that safe over there… yes, the one in the corner.’ He again motioned with the hand holding the lighter, indicating the safe about which he spoke. One of the men stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair as he did so.  “You must be nuts!  We can’t open that safe, that’s… that belongs to…”  Illya smiled again.  
  
“Yes, I know to whom it belongs.  That is the whole point.  Now, someone had better be opening that safe or…’ he flicked the lighter again, causing a flutter of apprehension to go through the room.  Apprehension and terror.  
  
“I can do it.”  It was the blonde with the glasses.  Somehow Illya wasn’t surprised.  “I rather thought you could.  Please…”  And with that she rose from her chair and walked to the safe, ready to do whatever was necessary to get out of this situation alive.  
  
As the scene with the dynamite played out, Napoleon was doing his best to make an impression on the man whose safe Illya was attempting to rob.  Delaney Pike was a newly appointed THRUSH chief in New York City, and the opportunity to remove him by creating doubt in his personal organization was at the top of the list where Alexander Waverly was concerned.  This man was well known as a cutthroat assassin, willing to eliminate anyone who got in his way to the top of THRUSH.  Getting rid of him was imperative in order to deter further violence in his wake.  
  
At the moment, Delaney Pike was admiring the couple that danced so close to his table he could almost reach out and touch the woman.  She was ethereal in that gown, more like an apparition than a real flesh and blood woman.  He wondered if she could be the prize he had sought to accompany him to THRUSH Central. Pike determined to make introductions, and so he inserted himself into the dreamy couple’s perfectly choreographed dance.  He rose from his seat and walked to within an arm’s length of Napoleon, and tapped him on the shoulder.  
  
“Excuse me, but I was wondering if I might cut in. You have made it far too inviting for me to remain seated.”  He was handsome for a man in his sixties.  None of the violence in his past had crept into his features, so that he exhibited none of the harshness of a criminal’s life.  April found him strangely attractive, although not enough to make her forget that this man was THRUSH, and one of the worst of them at that.  
“You flatter me, Mr…?”  April feigned ignorance, and charmed Delaney even more thoroughly with her coquettish portrayal. “Pike.  Delaney Pike, at your service.’ He looked at Napoleon then, confident that good manners would prevail and allow him the dance he now very much needed.  
  
“I do hope you will indulge me, before the music ends.”  Napoleon bowed slightly, handing April’s hand to Pike.  She smiled at them both, then allowed Pike to lead her back into the flow of dancers.  Napoleon stood at the edge of the dance floor and smiled, confident now that they had everything under control.  
  
Illya was aware of the time he had taken to convince these people that he was serious.  If Delaney Pike did things according to his custom, he would be checking in with them in the next thirty minutes.  He always kept watch on employees and the contents of this safe.  Illya hoped that distracting him with Agent Dancer would be sufficient for disrupting the man’s schedule long enough for him to get the contents out and through the door.    
  
“Are you in yet? Please do not attempt to …”  Too late.  The blonde woman rose from her position in front of the open safe and turned to face Illya with a gun in her hand. “I assure you that I will use this.  Please surrender the dynamite, or I will  _blow a hole through you_ ; with regrets, but I will do it.”  Illya believed her, and with a stream of curses that he didn’t give voice to he did as she said, but not before striking the lighter and igniting the fuse on the dynamite.  
  
Everyone at the table jumped up and began shouting, at Illya and each other.  The blonde with the gun fired, hitting Kuryakin in his left leg.  The white hot fire of lead through flesh and muscle was enough to stop most, but Illya tossed the dynamite, managing to back away and then out through the door.  He was bleeding, so much so that the trail was a grisly one, easily followed.  But no one was following as he lumbered down the steps and into the alley behind Pike’s office building.  
  
April was making conversation with Delaney Pike, her voice airy and less assertive than her everyday pitch.  She was supposed to make Pike believe that she was a New York Socialite with nothing more pressing in her life than parties and hair appointments.  Judging by how she looked tonight it was entirely believable.  Pike was charmed by the elegant redhead, but he was a THRUSH first and foremost.  One look at his watch and realized he was about to miss calling in to his office, something that never happened.  One did not get to THRUSH Central by skipping over the details.  
  
“Oh my dear, as much as I hate to do this I have some business to attend to.  The dance was not enough, and I’d very much like to see you again.”  April demurred, as though flattered by the older man’s attention.  ‘ _Nothing doing’_ , she was thinking to herself. Napoleon recognized the importance of Pike’s attention to his wristwatch and stepped onto the dance floor once again.  He was the one tapping on Pike’s shoulder this time.  
  
“Excuse me, but I believe the next dance is once again mine.”  His smile was one of a man smitten by his lady, and Pike relinquished April’s hand, once more attuned to the needs of his business, to THRUSH’s business.“You are a lucky man, and I wish you both the best.”  Pike winked at April and shook Napoleon’s hand, not completely sure that he wouldn’t see the woman again but now more concerned about the phone call he needed to make.  Haste to carry on with his more important role in life had him walking at a fast clip away from the ballroom and to a concierge phone.  
  
April looked up at Napoleon, unsure of their next move.  “Have you heard from Illya?  Where do we go from here?” Napoleon shook his head.  He hadn’t heard from Illya, and that was beginning to worry him.  His partner should have had the situation in hand before now, and if Pike called in to his people and no one answered…  Just then the trilling sound of Napoleon’s communicator came through above the orchestra’s rendition of  _Que Sera Sera._  
  
“Solo here.  Illya, what’s going on?”  A rasping breath on the other end made Napoleon strain to hear.  Illya was bleeding, close to losing consciousness as he sat on the front stoop of an old brownstone.  Napoleon could hear sirens in the background. “Illya!  Where are you, what’s happened?”  Illya gathered up the last of his strength to form an answer.  “I … blew it up … shot … need …” That was all he said before passing out and rolling from the steps onto the sidewalk below.  
  
Napoleon immediately contacted Headquarters, informing them that his partner was down and to track him with the signal from his communicator.  April was standing close to Napoleon, trying to hear and understand what was going on. “Napoleon, is Illya going to be all right?  What happened to him, and to Pike’s office?”   
  
Napoleon wasn’t sure, but it seemed as though whatever had been in that safe was no longer a problem.  
Napoleon and April headed back to Headquarters, their elegant evening a _soon to be_  memory.  The main concern now was Illya and what had happened to Pike’s safe.  If it was destroyed then part of their problem was solved.  If Illya was also destroyed in the process… well, that was something altogether different.  
  
The signal from Illya’s communicator had been an accurate beacon for the Section III agents who found him and loaded him into the UNCLE ambulance.  A medic took over while transporting the wounded agent back to Headquarters, but the situation was tense as he worked on stopping the bleeding that had rendered the Russian nearly dead.  
  
In the wee hours of morning they were still an impressive sight to behold; Napoleon and April hadn’t changed their clothes, opting instead to hold vigil in ICU alongside Illya.  The wounded agent lay once again in the dimly lit room, fighting for his life after a dangerous mission.  The news of a mysterious explosion in a Brooklyn office building led the evening news, and now, hours later, no one knew the details of just how it had occurred.  The Russian wasn’t talking.  Not yet anyway.  
  
Alexander Waverly made his way downstairs to check on his Number Two agent.  When he saw Napoleon and April he was momentarily struck by how attractive they were together, and just as suddenly the thought was gone.  Business to take care of, that was his life as head of UNCLE Northwest and beyond.  
  
“Mr. Solo, Miss Dancer… What is the word regarding Mr. Kuryakin.  I can’t seem to locate Dr. Waterston.”  The two young agents stood as their superior entered the room, sat again at his motion to do so.  
“Dr. Waterston is catching a nap, I believe.  He’d been on duty for nearly forty hours, and this business with Illya was very intense.  The bullet was on the verge of penetrating his femoral artery, although …’ Napoleon drew a deep breath, grateful once more for small favors. “Thankfully, the surgery pre-empted that happening.  If Illya had gone much farther on foot, though…”  
  
Waverly saw that, could visualize the Russian limping along until the bullet finally creased the artery and …   
“Thankful, indeed.  And what of the safe and its contents?  Do we have any idea of the outcome there?  I understand there were several fatalities at the location, and since Mr. Kuryakin was shot we can assume that he was unable to actually get his hands on the contents of that safe.”  
  
Napoleon and April both felt the reprimand in that statement.  Illya seems to have failed to successfully complete his assignment.  Wounded or not, there would be an accounting demanded of him.  
“I’m sure Illya did what he could, sir.”  April knew her comment wasn’t enough, didn’t have a weighty sound to it.  It seemed as though every time she had any kind of mission where the Russian was involved he ended up wounded.  She was beginning to wonder if she could possibly be a jinx of some sort.  But she didn’t believe in that sort of thing!  No, it was just … something.  
  
“Miss Dancer, you look quite lovely tonight, in spite of the circumstances.  I know that you have the utmost faith in Mr. Kuryakin’s ability to perform his work, as do I.  It seems, however, that in this instance, something as gone awry.”    
  
A low groaning sound caught all of their attention, and each person turned to the patient in anticipation of some other sign of life.  Illya was hurting, and the recognition of where he was dawned on him about the same time as a searing pain shot through his left thigh.  
  
“Illya?  Hey buddy, you’re in medical.  You’re safe, it’s all over.”  Napoleon knew how disorienting it was to wake up after something traumatic like a shooting.    
 _And_ an explosion.    
 _And_  being nearly dead.  What a life they lived.  
  
Mr. Waverly was at the bedside, he wanted to ask the pertinent question, hesitating only for a minute as he considered the possibility of a doctor or nurse coming into the room and chastising him for his tenacity.  
“Mr. Kuryakin, are you able to answer a few questions?”  Illya wanted something for the pain, but he nodded his head.  It was Waverly, after all. “Da… yes, sir…”  The pain was substantial and Illya blanched from it, obviously in need of something to alleviate it.  
  
“Sir, I think perhaps we should get a nurse, or …”  April hated that Illya might be in need of a shot of pain killer and knew he wouldn’t admit it while their boss was standing over his head. “Quite right, Miss Dancer.  Please go and get a nurse, will you?  I’ll stay here with Mr. Kuryakin.”  Waverly turned once more to Illya, his intentions obvious even to the pain wracked brain of the Russian.  
  
“Tell me, if you can Mr. Kuryakin, what happened in Pike’s office?  Did you retrieve any of what was in that safe?”  Illya was trying to remember, but all he could think of was how it had felt when the bullet tore into his leg; how he got out was a mystery still.  He remembered tossing the dynamite…  
  
“I blew up the safe, sir.  I threw the explosives into the open safe…’ He waivered a little, almost passing out but holding on in order to put Waverly’s mind at ease. “I do not believe that anything could have survived, and no would have retrieved it; there was not enough … time.”  The last word was barely audible as Illya gave in to the pain.   
  
April returned with a nurse just as Illya was exhaling the last word.“What are you all doing in here?  Can’t you see he needs his rest?  Now all of you, and that includes you Mr. Waverly… all of you, out.  And Good Night.”  
  
The trio exited the room, leaving behind their Russian friend.  Waverly felt relieved with the disclosure of the safe’s destruction.  Napoleon was just glad that Illya was going to be all right.  He was always fine, always.  Even now…  
  
April needed to get out of the dress and high heels she had been wearing for close to ten hours.  That was just too long to be dressed like this.  Her hair hurt from being up in a French twist, her feet hurt… Even her heart hurt, just a little.  
  
Napoleon could feel her frustration and the trifle bit of sadness she exuded. “You okay Red?  How about I take you home and tuck you in, hmmm?”  April smiled a wan little smile, comforted by the warmth in Napoleon's voice. “Thank you, Napoleon, that sounds perfect.  I’m beat, but I’m so glad to know that Illya will be all right.”  Napoleon recognized the young woman’s crush on his partner, but that was okay.  
    
The affair, and the night, had ended with a big bang, and everyone was going to be all right.

:~~~~~:~~~~~:~~~~~:~~~~~:~~~~~:~~~~~:

View the Poll [Here](http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/387828.html)


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